Project (Un)Popular Book #1

by Kristen Tracy

  “Okay,” my mom said. “But nothing with caffeine.”

  “Orange soda, please,” I said.

  My mom sat in the chair across from me hanging her head a little. “I should probably call Piper, but I don’t have a phone.”

  “I left mine in my underwear drawer,” I explained. It bummed me out that Piper had basically blown off all my major problems and told me that I was in charge of fixing my own life. Because turning to her for advice had made me feel cared for.

  “That’s too bad,” my mom said. “I bet Venice will want to hear all about this.”

  “Yeah,” I said. But thinking about Venice didn’t feel awesome either. Because the amazing feeling I’d had all day yesterday after I’d spilled the truth had begun to fade. Sitting in this sterile room made me think of school. And I wasn’t sure how Venice was going to feel about me when I got back there. I was pretty sure that Leo was going to get suspended for bringing a weapon to school. But I also didn’t think that was totally my fault. Because I didn’t know a chain was a weapon. I worried that Venice would blame me for that. I worried that things were going to feel even more different. Because if we got our staff lanyards suspended, would she blame me for that, too?

  “I hope I haven’t missed any important calls. The tree cutter was going to get back to me with a quote,” my mom said. Then she stood up and started pacing. “I feel so marooned without a phone.”

  “Yeah,” I said. But I thought it was sort of good timing. Because as long as my mom’s phone was in a box of rice on the refrigerator, it meant Principal Hunt couldn’t call her. And whatever happened, whether I got in trouble or whether nothing happened at all, I thought it would be ideal for me to tell my mom about things before my principal. Because I would probably phrase it better.

  When my dad came back into the room he had three granola bars and a package of doughnuts and a steaming cup.

  “No soda?” I asked. Because I hardly ever got to drink orange soda.

  “Better. It’s hot chocolate!” he cheered.

  And I didn’t even know you could get that out of a vending machine.

  “You’ll probably need a straw,” my dad said, carefully handing me the cup.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I see you bought the doughnuts,” my mom scolded.

  “I figured we should live a little,” my dad said.

  It must have taken me an hour to eat my doughnuts, because when I was finished Dr. Salak returned.

  “Okay,” she said in a cheery voice. “Let’s save this map.”

  She took her fingers and pressed my cheek away from the cardboard. She only had to do this about four times until the map came off.

  “Voila!” she said, handing me my map. “A total success.”

  But I immediately touched my face and felt a patch of glue, so I didn’t feel like it had been a total success.

  “You can get rid of that with soap and water,” Dr. Salak said. “It might take a couple of days. But gentle scrubbing should do it.”

  And at first I misunderstood and I thought she’d told me that I had to gently scrub my face for two days. “We’re going to need to buy a lot more soap,” I said to my mom.

  “Don’t overdo it,” Dr. Salak warned. “I wouldn’t wash that area more than three times a day. You don’t want to irritate the skin.”

  She was right. I didn’t want to do that.

  “Thank you so much,” my mom said.

  “You’re a real map saver,” my dad said. But both my mom and I cringed at that.

  And before I could talk more with Dr. Salak, she shook my hand and told me to have a nice day.

  “That was a fast exit,” I said. Because I thought she could’ve talked to me a little bit more.

  “I think she’s also dealing with a serious head wound,” my mom said.

  “Yeah. I think I saw a woman going into labor on the way to the vending machine,” my dad said.

  And I guessed that all made sense. Because a pregnant woman going into labor with a head wound sounded pretty dramatic.

  On the drive back home I tried to stay in my stress-free place. But my mind kept thinking about Derby and Venice and Leo and Anya and all my problems.

  “Were you really popular in middle school?” I called from the backseat.

  “Your mom was extremely popular,” my dad said. “She was on the dance squad and was student body vice president.”

  “That was high school,” my mom corrected.

  Our neighborhood zoomed past us as we drove home.

  “It sounds like you were super popular,” I said.

  “It didn’t feel that way,” my mom said. “I just felt busy.”

  “Oh,” I said. Because I definitely understood that feeling.

  “Are you thinking about Derby?” my mom asked.

  And rather than admit that I was mostly thinking about myself, I said, “Sort of.”

  “Who’s Derby?” my dad asked. “Is he a boy you like?”

  “Bleh,” I said from the backseat. Because even if I did like Derby that way, which I didn’t, it was gross for my dad to say it.

  “Being in Yearbook has really thrown Perry into a new social group,” my mother said.

  We pulled up into the driveway and my dad parked the car and turned around to look at me.

  “You shouldn’t stress out about being popular. My experience is that the kids who were most popular at your age don’t amount to much. It’s the nerds and the geeks who really become successful.”

  “But you just said that Mom was popular,” I said with a frown. Because it sounded like he was saying harsh things about her.

  “He’s saying that being popular now doesn’t matter,” my mom said. “The important stuff comes later.”

  “But what even made you popular?” I asked. “How does that happen?” Because I really felt that I owed it to Derby to help him.

  She shrugged. “People liked me and I liked them back.”

  I dragged myself into the house. With that kind of advice it seemed pretty unlikely that I’d be able to help Derby climb any social ladders.

  When we got into the house I zoomed straight to the bathroom to inspect my cheek. I could see a crusty spot where the glue remained.

  My mom and dad sneaked up behind me to take a look too.

  “I hope you’re not worried that a glue spot will make you unpopular,” my mom said. “I’m sure it will be gone in a day or two.”

  “You look beautiful,” my dad said. “And if there is a spot, I bet your mom will help you cover it up with makeup.”

  I stayed in front of the mirror and stared at it. The spot actually wasn’t that big. It was smaller than a dime. But it felt pretty noticeable. If Venice and I weren’t in a weird place right now, I’d take a picture of my patchy glue skin and send it to her and ask her what she thought.

  But I wasn’t sure I should do that. Because I was sort of afraid of her right now. I didn’t want her to be mad at me. And I was pretty sure she would be. Because if she’d gotten me into this much trouble, I was sure I’d be upset for a while.

  The Calls

  I was probably the only sixth grader in the history of the world who left her phone in an underwear drawer for almost an entire weekend. But that was exactly what I did. I guess I was in denial and I wanted to stay there. Because when you’re in denial, your problems aren’t right in front of your face. They stay hidden. Because you don’t know what any of your texts say. Also, you haven’t listened to your voice mails so you don’t know if any of your friends have yelled at you.

  I think taking their child to the emergency room had reminded my parents how short life was, because suddenly they wanted to accomplish all the yard work they’d been putting off for weeks.

  “We’ll be thanking ourselves in October,” my dad said. “When all the hard stuff is done.”

  I held a rake and a lawn bag and waited for further instructions.

  “Do you see the difference between this vine
and the clematis?” my dad asked, pointing to some overgrown plants clinging to the lattice attached to the house.

  “The vine is a vine and the clematis has dead flowers on it?” I said.

  My dad lifted his sunglasses up so I could see his eyes and he smiled at me. “Exactly. The vine is a monster and we want to stamp out its existence, and the clematis is a perennial and we’re on the same team.”

  “Okay,” I said, yanking out a big piece of it.

  “Stop,” my dad said. “Those are the poppies.”

  But I didn’t feel too bad about ripping out the poppies, because my dad hadn’t even told me they were there.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of the vine. Why don’t you rake leaves?”

  And that seemed like a good idea, because I was already holding the rake. The saddest thing about yard work was raking the side lawn. Because that was where my bedroom was. And Mitten Man liked to sit in the window and watch birds. But today instead of birds he was watching me. And he looked really miserable and he kept meowing at me. Because he didn’t understand that he was an indoor cat.

  When I heard my dad’s phone ring, I didn’t suspect it was my principal calling to ruin my life. It wasn’t until I heard the rotten sound of my dad saying her name that I realized this was happening.

  “Anita Hunt?” my dad said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you on a Sunday. Is your back crown acting up?”

  And I was pretty sure that Principal Hunt’s back crown was not acting up.

  “Really?” my dad said.

  And I was dying to know what Principal Hunt was saying.

  “No. Perry didn’t go to school on Friday because she was in the emergency room,” he said. “No. No. She’s fine now.”

  And I sort of felt like this was my one chance to run and get away. But I didn’t take it, because my mom joined us. And I figured she would just chase me down. She did have a background in track.

  “Yes,” my dad said. “Perry’s mom is right here. And so is Perry. Let me put you on speakerphone.”

  I glanced at my dad’s phone and then at my rake. “I should probably get back to work.” I turned to leave before this conversation could turn dangerous, but my dad put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I was hoping to schedule a conference with you,” Principal Hunt said.

  My mind flashed back to the dead, balding deer. My knees felt shaky. Nobody should be forced to be in that room. Even the deer.

  “I was hoping this could happen before Perry starts detention,” Principal Hunt added.

  And that was basically the worst thing I’d ever heard come out of my dad’s speakerphone.

  “Detention?” my mother said. She looked at me very harshly. And I just sort of made a sad and surprised face. Because I was pretty sure that hearing about my detention on speakerphone was much more terrible for me than her.

  “Um,” my dad said, staring up at the sky. “I’ve got a pretty full schedule next week. When does Perry’s detention start?”

  “Monday. Five lunches,” she said. “I’ve left several messages on your wife’s phone and emailed her. But I haven’t heard anything back.”

  “She likes to step away from technology on the weekends,” my dad said, frowning at my mom.

  I felt relieved that he didn’t mention the toilet phone drama.

  “What did Perry do?” my mom blurted out. But I thought that was pretty rude to assume I was automatically guilty of something. Even though maybe in this case I was.

  “There’s been some confusion regarding school resources concerning Perry and other members of Yearbook,” Principal Hunt said.

  “I have been very confused about school resources,” I said, hoping that would soften what was coming next.

  “What kind of resources?” my dad asked. Because he still didn’t understand I was in serious trouble.

  “Is she overusing paper towels?” my mom asked. She looked at me and wagged her finger. “You need to tone it down with that,” she whispered at me.

  But I didn’t even think that made sense. Piper had stolen at least four rolls. When it came to the paper towels, I was using them at a normal rate.

  “We can pay for any excessive use,” my dad said. “Sometimes Perry overdoes it.”

  And it was very hard to watch my parents misunderstand what was being said.

  “Actually, it’s more serious than paper towels. Perry and three other students accessed a supply closet that’s normally locked,” Principal Hunt said.

  “You got into a school supply closet?” my dad asked. “Did you take something?”

  I couldn’t believe my dad automatically assumed I was a thief. But I decided to stay quiet. And not answer any questions until Principal Hunt was through explaining things.

  “On Thursday, they borrowed a folding ladder in an attempt to take photos of another student from an aerial position,” Principal Hunt said.

  I just kept looking at my shoes and my garden gloves. My life would have been so much better if I was still doing awful yard work.

  “I told you not to use that dangerous ladder again!” my mother snapped. “You said you wouldn’t.”

  “You knew Perry was breaking into the supply closet at her school?” my dad asked.

  “Please, let me finish,” Principal Hunt said.

  And I was glad that at least one person’s voice was remaining calm.

  “This isn’t entirely Perry’s fault,” Principal Hunt explained.

  And I liked the way that sounded.

  “I believe that the oversight of Yearbook staff has been a little too relaxed this semester,” Principal Hunt said. “I’ve met with Ms. Kenny, and we’ve both agreed that there need to be some changes.”

  “Wow,” my mom said. “This is all coming out of left field.”

  “Perry, have you told your parents anything about what happened on Thursday?” Principal Hunt asked.

  Both my parents looked at me and I felt very uncomfortable. I mean, what normal person would want to volunteer such horrible news to their parents? “I haven’t had time to do that yet. I have been in the hospital.”

  “I can meet with you on Monday,” my mom said. “Give me a time and I’m there.”

  My mom took Principal Hunt off speakerphone so they could decide on a time. And my dad kept looking at me in this sad and upset way. I felt pretty strongly I should mention the chain to him before Principal Hunt mentioned it to my mom. Because if she referred to it as a weapon, and didn’t mention it was just a chain, my parents were going to think I’d turned into a total thug.

  “What’s going on?” my mom asked as she marched over to join us.

  “Um,” I said. Because I wasn’t sure where to start. “Remember Derby?” I asked.

  And that was when I tried to explain things as best I could. “I was tired of the popular kids treating the dweebs like they were zeroes. So I tried to get Derby into the What’s Hot section by getting him to pose as a hot-looking sixth grader. But it was harder than I thought. And I borrowed a ladder. And I’m not sure any of my pictures make him look hot enough.”

  My parents kept looking at me like I was crazy. Then my dad got the wrong idea and said, “Is somebody bullying you?”

  And that didn’t even make sense. Because this wasn’t about that.

  “I’m trying to make Derby popular,” I said. “But it’s impossible. And now my life feels ruined. Also, Venice’s boyfriend accidentally brought a weapon to school.”

  And that was probably not how I should have mentioned that, but it was how it came out.

  “It was just a chain,” I explained. But that didn’t seem to calm my parents down.

  My mother covered her mouth. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything about this.”

  But that felt a little unfair considering I had spent several hours completing my map and had been in the emergency room. “I was waiting to learn my outcome. That was supposed to happen on Friday.”

  “Perry, you need to g
o to your room while your mom and I have a talk,” my dad said.

  “Okay,” I said. “But please remember that almost all of what happened was an accident. And I was only trying to rescue a nerd from being a nerd. If I thought things would end this badly, I never would have tried to do anything.”

  I was no longer in denial. I had to face the facts: My life wasn’t going very well. Also, I needed to face another fact: It was time to check my phone. Here’s the thing about facing reality when your life is going terribly—it’s very hard to do it. I looked at my phone for a long time before I had the courage to power it back up.

  I knew once I turned it on that anything could have been waiting for me. Venice could have left me a bunch of mean messages. Or worse, Venice could have been so hurt and angry that she hadn’t left me any messages at all.

  I finally pushed the button. I was really happy to see that I’d missed a bunch of calls and that I had five new text messages. Four were from Venice and one was from Anya. And I had five new voice mails. They were all from Venice. I decided to listen to those messages first.

  Thursday 12:01 p.m.

  Voice mail #1: I’m not sure where you are. It’s lunch. Did you go home? Okay. Leo took the blame for the chain. It’s not fair. He is so amazing. I hope he doesn’t get in real trouble. I need to go talk to him. Call me later. Also, Derby looked great in Leo’s jeans. I mean, until today I never realized Derby had a butt. It’s cute.

  After listening to this message, I took a deep breath. So far, Venice didn’t hate me. I mean, what she said about Derby’s butt was alarming, but she was probably under a ton of stress and wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Thursday 4:42 p.m.

  Voice mail #2: Are you gonna call? Leo is here. We can talk and figure out plans. Derby doesn’t hate us. He said his class loved watching stuff through the window. Somebody thought the chain was a meteor hammer. Which is a deadly weapon. He said everybody was talking about it. Do you think I’m mad at you? I’m not. I’m mad at Anya. She’s so terrible.

  This message was better than the first message. Venice liked me and maybe taking Derby’s picture had worked after all.

  Thursday 8:02 p.m.